


Be My Saviour

by Lokisarmy0602



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Brotherhood, Brotherly Love, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7751332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokisarmy0602/pseuds/Lokisarmy0602
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Aramis saved his brothers lives and the one time they saved him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Athos

1\. Athos

They all ached, the long journey back to Paris taking its toll on them. Athos straightened in his saddle, his back cracking as he tried to rid the stiffness in his muscles. His horse huffed from beneath him and he leant forward slightly, patting the beast on the neck.

"Nearly there," he said, stroking the horse's main before looking across to Aramis, who had pulled his horse back to walk next to him.

"Something doesn't feel right," he mumbled, eyes glancing towards the trees.

They were walking along a path that on one side was trees and the other a steep bank leading to the river below.

"What is it?" Athos then asked, sensing Aramis' discomfort from the tension in the man's shoulders. Athos knew if there was something in the tree then Aramis would see it, the man had the best eyesight out of all four of them after all.

"I don't know, it just seems a little too... Quiet," Aramis said, glancing back at Athos and locking eyes.

He saw the concern in his brother's eyes, the way his jaw was set in tension and the grip on his reins tightening slightly.

Athos glanced behind them and down the path they had just come up.

"We're not carrying anything of value for bandits to attack," Athos said trying to reassure his brother.

"Yet we are the King's musketeers, it wouldn't be the first time we got ambushed just because of the title," Porthos said from behind, riding alongside D'artagnan.

Athos let out a heavy breath, glancing towards the trees and slowly beginning to feel the sense of being watched.

Suddenly a shot rang clear through the air, birds quickly flying out of the trees in fear from the noise.

Athos cried out in pain, the musket ball hitting him in the right shoulder. His horse reared up in fear and Athos, unable to get a good grip on the reins, fell sideways. He landed harsh on the top of the embankment, rolling roughly towards the bottom.

"Athos!" He heard his brothers shout, all climbing down from their horse's to face the oncoming attack.

Athos' head was spinning, nausea rising within him as his body took a beating on the way down.

He came to a harsh stop by slamming stomach first into the rocks at the bottom next to the river. He let out a grunt, the force of the hit knocking the wind out of him. He forced himself onto his back with a huff, his chest rising and falling rapidly as adrenaline pumped through his body.

He blinked up at the sky, white clouds slowly dancing across the blue background.

His vision blurred and he gritted his teeth in pain as his injuries caught up with him. He registered the wetness of his jacket on his right shoulder and also how his ribs protested against the simple act of breathing.

Blood rushed to his ears, making hearing a thing of difficulty as he tried to listen for his brothers. He let out heavy pants, rolling his head to the side to look back up the banking before squeezing his eyes closed, trying to force down the wave of dizziness. He opened his eyes after it had settled and looked up, seeing the evidence of his fall from the disturbed leaves and dirt on the banking.

He let out a groan as the pain from breathing shook his whole body into a wince. He turned his head to rest, looking back up at the sky and trying to blink back the pain.

"Athos!" Aramis shouted from the top of the banking, glancing down at his brother who laid still on his back. His heart hammered in his chest as he quickly spun, lifting his sword up to block an oncoming attack from one of the bandits. He pushed back, letting out a grunt as he swung his sword to cut the man down. He glanced back down at Athos before suddenly Porthos shouted across to him.

"Go!" He said, fighting off two of their attackers. "We'll handle this!" He said and Aramis didn't need to hear anymore before he was skidding onto his back, following after Athos.

He came to a rough stop at the bottom of the banking, stumbling slightly as he pushed up to stand. He then quickly ran over to Athos, skidding down to his knees next to the Captain.

His eyes widen in horror at Athos' state. His clothes were ripped and covered in dirt from the rough fall. His hair was a mess, a few leaves sticking out in odd places. He had dust covering his face and a deep cut running down the side of it, which was the cause of the blood smeared across his cheek and down his neck.

"Athos?" Aramis asked, leaning over to block most of Athos' view.

Athos took his time in registering Aramis, blinking up at him with glassy eyes before he finally focused on his brother.

"Good, you're still alive," Aramis mumbled mostly to himself, letting out a sigh of relief before moving to pull Athos' jacket off.

He tried his hardest not to cause the man anymore pain but it was simply impossible, Athos crying out when he pulled the jacket off his right arm.

The man then grunted as he fell onto his back again, breathing heavily through gritted teeth as he glared up at Aramis.

"Do you want my help or not?" Aramis asked and Athos just looked away, trying to focus his mind on anything but the pain. Aramis then pulled the knife from out his leather boot and cut away at Athos' shirt to reveal the wound in more light.

"This is my... My best shirt, you know," Athos breathed, his eyes fluttering shut as his head pounded against his skull.

"Hey," Aramis said, one hand coming to pat Athos gently on the check to cause his eyes to blink open again. "Keep your eyes on me, okay. Just stare up at my handsome face for me, alright," he said and he was pleased when he saw a small smile crack across Athos' paling face.

Aramis then looked down at the wound, the blood staining Athos' shirt. He slowly felt behind Athos' shoulder and swallowed hard when he didn't find an exit wound.

He swore and Athos raised an eyebrow at him, his tired eyes looking up at Aramis.

"What?" He asked, his breathing heavy as he spoke.

"No exit wound," Aramis bluntly stated. "It means the ball is still i-"

"I know what it means," Athos growled before regretting it, the force of speaking too quickly making him wince. "I think I've... Broken my... My ribs," Athos then breathed, squeezing his eyes shut in pain before resting his head back against the ground.

"One life-threatening injury at a time please, Athos," Aramis said, glancing at the man who blinked his eyes open to stare up past Aramis and at the sky.

Suddenly, the sounds of the fighting above died down and Aramis glanced up at the heavy footsteps, fearful that his brothers had been defeated.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Porthos and D'artagnan quickly making their way down the banking, D'artagnan carrying Aramis' bag. The young musketeer stumbled slightly, slipping onto his back with a huff at the bottom of the banking.

Porthos helped him up and the two came running over, both dropping down next to Aramis.

"I need to get the ball out. Porthos hold him down," he then ordered and Porthos did just so, pinning one arm across Athos' chest and another across his upper thighs. Athos winced as he did so, the added pressure on his chest not doing his ribs any favours.

"D'artagnan, get the wine," he said and D'artagnan pulled the bottle of alcohol out from the bag, handing it over to Aramis.

"Drink," he then ordered to Athos, lifting the man's head up for him slightly as Athos' hand came to lazy grab at the bottle. D'artagnan took the bottle back from Athos after a few gulps while Aramis pulled a rag out from his bag.

"This is going to be painful," he said almost apologetic to Athos who just allowed Aramis to put the cloth between his teeth. The captain then squeezed his eyes shut and took in a shaky breath through his nose.

Athos trashed against Porthos hold as Aramis worked at getting the ball free. His cries were muffled by the rag in his mouth but it didn't do much in trying to restrain his cries of pain.

D'artagnan winced, not wanting to watch his brother in pain but not being able to take his eyes away. He leant forward to hold Athos' left arm down that had come up, hand balled up into a fist.

"Easy," D'artagnan said low into Athos' ear, trying to calm the man down.

Aramis suddenly had hold of the ball and pulled it out as slowly as he could to not damage the wound any further.

Athos let out a heavy breath once Aramis finally had the ball free; his head rolling to one side as tiredness began to take him. The adrenaline had slowly drained from his body and he was beginning to feel the true extent of all his injuries.

"Athos?" Aramis then asked as he pouring the alcohol onto the cloth D'artagnan had handed him. Their captain simply groaned, spitting out the rag and turning his head slowly towards his brother.

"What would you say about me being Captain?" He then asked and Athos frowned at him.

"Wha-?" He began to ask but let out a low hiss from the sting of the alcohol.

"I hear it hurts less when you're distracted," Aramis simply said, wiping at the wound with the cloth to stop an infection from occurring.

"Well... whoever told you that... Was wrong," Athos said, still managing to keep a dry tone to his words even in his current state. Aramis shrugged and both Porthos and D'artagnan let out a soft chuckle.

Aramis began to stitch up Athos' wound, his fingers working effortless to provide the cleanest stitch work.

After finishing he ordered D'artagnan to gently lift Athos up. The task proved to be hard, Athos grunting in pain and sending a glare in Aramis' direction. He got help from Porthos in bandaging Athos' shoulder up before lowering the injured man back down to the ground slowly.

"Now, those ribs," Aramis said and Athos frowned up at him in confusion.

With all the pain that was screaming from his shoulder he had completely forgotten about his throbbing ribs. Aramis' delicate hands came to lift Athos' bloody shirt up, studying the bruises that were slowly making themselves known. He gently pressed against Athos' ribs, feeling for any broken bone. Athos gritted his teeth in pain, a hand going to grip Porthos' one by his side.

"None broken, possibly bruised though but you'll be fine," Aramis then said and his brothers let out a sigh of relief, all having been fearing the worst.

"Great," Athos breathed with closed eyes, the sarcasm laced strongly in his voice.

Aramis smirked down at him before standing, moving over to the river to wash his bloodstained hands.

"We'll set up camp for the night," D'artagnan said, standing and stretching his back. "You're in no fit state to be moved yet," he said and Athos simply hummed, keeping his eyes closed and making no effort to protest.

D'artagnan then climbed back up the steep banking to tie their horses up to the trees. Aramis then followed to quickly grab some of their belongings before re-joining his brothers by the river.

Porthos had managed to get a fire started, slowly building up the flames by placing a few more pieces of wood into the centre of it.

Aramis took Athos' bedroll and gently lifted the Captain's head to tuck the bedroll under it to act as a pillow. He then gentle placed a blanket over Athos, who was now fast asleep; too exhausted from the painful ordeal he had just gone through.

"He's going to be alright," Aramis said later on that evening, having seen D'artagnan watching Athos with worry filled eyes.

The younger musketeer glanced up at Aramis, who simply gave him a soft smile.

"Trust me, he's a fighter," Aramis said and D'artagnan nodded, shifting into a move comfortable position against the rocks.

"Cards anyone?" Porthos asked, leaning forward slightly from where he sat and grinned across at D'artagnan.

"No, last time we played I nearly lost all my money to both of you," he grumbled, roughly pulling his blanket further over his shoulders and across his chest.

"You still bitter about that?" Porthos asked and D'artagnan threw him a glare.

"I didn't have enough money to eat for two days," he said and Porthos chuckled at the man's anger.

"You still got food though," he said, reminding D'artagnan of how they had paid for him to eat.

"You cheated," D'artagnan mumbled and Aramis just watched the two, glancing from one to the other across the fire.

"I would never," Porthos said, pretending to act offended by his brothers words by putting a hand to his chest.

"Yes... Yes, you would," Athos' voice mumbled softly from where he laid next to Aramis. He cracked an eye open to give Porthos a look before turning his head slightly to fall back asleep.

"The man's half conscious, he doesn't know what he's saying," Porthos replied and Aramis let out a laugh, tending to the fire in the centre of their small camp.

"This is Athos, even when drunk he still makes more sense than any of us," Aramis said and Porthos simply shrugged, dealing out three sets of cards for them to play late into the evening. Little to say, D'artagnan may not be eating for a while.


	2. Porthos

2-Porthos

It was a normal game of cards. Porthos was yet again beating the man sat opposite him, a wide grin on his face as he scooped up his winnings. His opponent foolishly called for another game in hoping he could win his money back.

Athos, Aramis and D'artagnan watched on in amusement from where they sat at their usual corner table in their favourite tavern.

"He has to be cheating," D'artagnan mumbled mostly to himself, watching Porthos closely through narrowed eyes. "No way he could beat the man that easily," D'artagnan said, oblivious to the small look Athos and Aramis shot each other from across the table.

"This is Porthos we're talking about here," Aramis said and D'artagnan drew his eyes away from the larger musketeer to settle them on Aramis.

"And your point is?" He questioned with a small frown.

"He most definitely is cheating," Athos said, leaning back in his chair and lifting his wine up to his lips, taking a few gulps.

D'artagnan looked back over to watch Porthos, studying the man's movements to see for any signs of him cheating. He hadn't come across any yet meaning Porthos was running on luck, which D'artagnan was sure would run out soon.

Athos poured himself another glass of wine, shaking the bottle slightly and seeing it was nearly empty.

"You think Porthos has the next round?" Athos asked, glancing over to where the musketeer was grinning at the card table.

"It certainly seems that way," Aramis commented as Porthos let out a laugh, scooping up the money from the middle of the table.

"Better luck next time my friend," Porthos said and the man he was playing against, Duval, glared harshly at him.

"You cheated," Duval more stated than asked and Porthos placed a hand against his chest.

"Never," he said before moving to stand. Duval glanced at his men and shook his head as they started to move forward to take Porthos down. Duval had other plans for the musketeer.

Porthos picked up his hat from the table, flipping it onto his head before bidding Duval goodbye and walking over to his friends.

"More wine gentlemen?" Porthos asked with a grin, to which both Aramis and D'artagnan returned with a smirk, leaning back in their chairs as Porthos sat down at the table. He signalled to the barmaid for another bottle before turning to face his friends, the grin not slipping from his face.

"How much did you win?" D'artagnan asked.

"Enough for drinks all week," Porthos said and Athos raised his glass to the man, giving Porthos a silent "well done".

Without the musketeers knowing, Duval had ordered one of his men to slip something into the wine the barmaid was now currently placing down on the musketeers table.

Porthos thanked her before grabbing the bottle and taking a few gulps. He then began to top up his brothers cups before filling one up for himself.

Just as Athos was about to take a sip from his glass, he saw Porthos suddenly go stiff. The three musketeers watched in horror as their brother suddenly started to shake, falling sideways off his chair and pulling the wine bottle down with him. The glass smashed into the floor, the red wine spilling everywhere like blood.

"Porthos!" The three of them shouted, jumping up from their chairs which toppled backwards from the force of them quickly standing.

Aramis was knelt by Porthos' side in a second, fear in his eyes as Porthos grunted and his whole body shook, gasping for air.

"He's been poisoned," Aramis rushed, not glancing up at his brothers as his heart beat picked up dramatically. His hand went to Porthos' face whose eyes had rolled back into his head, causing Aramis' breath to catch in his throat.

D'artagnan glanced up, studying the tavern in front of him before his eyes suddenly landed on a smirking Duval by the doorway.

"DUVAL!" D'artagnan shouted, quickly climbing over the table and running for the man. Athos reached out for the younger musketeer but his hand grabbed thin air, D'artagnan managing to slip by him.

"D'artagnan! Don't!" Athos shouted but he was off, driven by anger and running through the tavern for Duval.

"Athos!" Aramis then shouted, dragging the Captain's attention back to Porthos who was shaking violently and struggling to breathe. "We need to move him," Aramis ordered and Athos nodded, grabbing Porthos' legs as Aramis grabbed his friend's upper body.

The tavern was round the corner from the garrison and, with the help of a few other musketeers who had been in the tavern at the time, they managed to carry Porthos into his room to lay him on his bed.

His head rolled to the side as he groaned before crying out, his body shaking in pain.

Aramis was quick to react, grabbing the treatment he needed from the medical room as Athos tried to pin Porthos down to the bed and stop him thrashing.

"This would be much easier if D'artagnan hadn't run off after the man," Athos growled as Aramis came back into the room. Athos pushed back his frustration, knowing D'artagnan had acted on anger and fear for his brother. "He better not get himself killed," Athos mumbled as Aramis knelt down on the opposite side of the bed.

He worked quickly, pouring the thick yellow drink into Porthos' mouth before quickly covering it with a cloth to stop Porthos from spitting it out. The larger musketeer let out a mumbled groan and then coughed, his body shaking from the force of it. Athos' grip on the man tightening as Porthos thrashed against his hold, trying to turn his head away from Aramis' hand over his mouth.

Aramis removed the cloth and forced some more of the drink down Porthos' throat before replacing the cloth again.

"Swallow you arrogant fool, I'm trying to save your life," Aramis snapped but knew Porthos couldn't hear him, knowing the man was in a tremendous amount of pain to even think.

One last force of the drink and it was all gone; Aramis finally getting the man to swallow down the awful tasting medicine.

Porthos let out a grunt and a heavy huff of breath, his head rolling to one side as his body went slack under Athos' hold. The Captain looked up at Aramis with panic in his eyes, fearing the worse had happened to his brother.

Aramis quickly placed the empty cup and cloth down before pressing his fingers to Porthos' neck to check for a pulse as his own heart pounded hard against his ribs.

Athos watched impatiently, his heart in his throat as he waited for an answer from Aramis.

"He's alive... but only just," Aramis said and Athos let out a heavy sigh of relief, releasing his hold on Porthos and leaning back on his heels.

"What do we do now?" Athos asked, pulling himself up to stand as Aramis stared down at the larger musketeer.

Aramis forced back tears that had finally caught up with him, the state Porthos was in getting to him. His forehead was covered with beads of sweat, one dripping down the side of his head. His skin was pale and his mouth open slightly to let out weak breathing. If it wasn't for the slow rising and falling of Porthos' chest, they would have thought him dead from how still he was.

"We wait, there's nothing more we can do," Aramis said, slumping into the chair next to the bed and looking defeated.

"Will he make it?" Athos then asked, saying the question he knew he didn't want the answer to but knowing he needed to know.

"That, I don't know," Aramis said, looking up from Porthos and towards Athos, tears filling his eyes. He sniffed, blinking back the tears and straightening slightly, suddenly feeling he needed to stay strong for Porthos. He couldn't bear seeing any of his brothers in pain, his heart aching having to watch Porthos struggle for his life. He couldn't do anything more for him; all he could was wait, hoping Porthos had enough fight in him to get through it.

Rushed and heavy footsteps sounded outside along the balcony before the door suddenly swung open and a sweaty and out breath D'artagnan rushed in.

"He's not..." He stopped short, taking in the scene in front of him and assuming the worse.

"No," Athos said, reassuring D'artagnan who let out a sigh of relief, his head falling down to rest on his chest.

"Thank god," he then prayed.

"Don't thank god yet," Aramis then mumbled and D'artagnan glanced up, a questioning look in his eyes. "He needs to make it through the night first, which I doubt will be blissful," Aramis explained, knowing what poison could do to a man.

"What about Duval?" Athos then asked to change the subject, seeing how D'artagnan was staring at Porthos with such much worry and fear in his eyes.

D'artagnan looked up to meet Athos' gaze before breaking out of his thoughts about Porthos not making it through the night.

"A few of the musketeers are taking him to the Bastille. I've sent some out to try and find the men who helped him poison Porthos, bring them down too," D'artagnan informed them. Athos nodded before turning away, sitting down in the chair on the opposite side of the bed from Aramis. D'artagnan shut the door to Porthos' room, walking forwards before slumping against the wall opposite Porthos' bed. He sunk to the ground, bringing his knees up to rest his arms on of them. He let out a heavy breath, resting his head back against the wall and glancing up at the ceiling.

It was a long night. Porthos was tossing and turning in his bed, mumbling random words as he slept, his face scrunched up tightly in pain. Aramis kept applying a wet cloth to the man's forehead, trying to keep Porthos' rising temperature down.

They stayed up that night, all silent and stuck in a world of their own worry as Porthos groaned in pain, head turning from side to side in his restless sleep.

D'artagnan's eyes were slowly dropping when Porthos suddenly coughed, breathing in a large breath and his eyes fluttered open.

It was early in the morning, the sun just have risen and lighting up the room, taking over from the candle light.

D'artagnan stood up and moved towards the bed as Athos and Aramis leant forward in their chairs.

"Porthos?" Aramis asked softly, a hand gently going to Porthos' chest. It took a while but Porthos finally blinked and focused on Aramis with tired eyes.

"Did you..." Porthos tried to speak but ended up coughing, his body shaking violently.

"Easy," Athos said as D'artagnan quickly moved to grab the man a drink of water.

"Here," D'artagnan said and with the help of Aramis, they managed to gently lift Porthos up and give him a drink of water. Porthos then leant back into the bed, his head resting down against the pillow with a sigh.

"Did you... Call me a... A Fool?" Porthos asked and Aramis glanced up at Athos, the three of them letting out a shaky laugh.

"I believe it was an arrogant fool," Athos corrected with a small grin. Porthos glanced over at Athos before weakly smiling up at him.

"How you feeling?" Aramis then asked, drawing Porthos' attention towards him. The larger musketeer let out a slow and heavy breath, closing his eyes as he did so.

"Like hell," he then mumbled before blinking his eyes open, a frown forming on his face. "What happened?" He then asked and D'artagnan moved to sit at the end of the bed.

"You were poisoned," Athos simply stated, leaning back into his chair before rubbing his hands over his face, the tiredness from staying up all night finally getting to him.

"Poisoned?" Porthos asked before looking over to Aramis.

"I saved your life of course, like usual," Aramis said with a smirk and Porthos rolled his eyes before closing them again, wincing in pain from the headache that was slowly rising. Aramis stood, gently patting Porthos on the shoulder.

"Get some rest," he then said and Porthos just hummed, titling his head to the side to sleep. Aramis then gestured for Athos and D'artagnan to follow him out, allowing Porthos to sleep in peace.

"I'll go tell Treville what's happened," Athos then said as D'artagnan shut Porthos' door behind them. "You two go get some sleep… and that's an order," he added with a stern look and both Aramis and D'artagnan simply nodded.

"Of course Captain," Aramis said with a smirk before wrapping an arm around D'artagnan's shoulder, walking along the balcony with him to their rooms.

Athos watched them go, Aramis giving D'artagnan's shoulder a squeeze before they exited into their separate rooms.

The Captain ran a hand through his messy hair, glancing towards Porthos' closed door and thankful the man was stable. He let out a shaky breath before turning, heading down the steps to go see Treville at the palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and the reviews, it always makes my day when I get good response to my writing. Hope you enjoyed this second chapter. The third one will be up soon, just need to fine tone it slightly. Reviews are always appreciated, thanks for reading :)


	3. Athos (again)

3- Athos(again).

The smell of rotting flesh and blood hung thick in the air, however the stench had become a normal thing for the musketeers. The day was dark, just like every day before that. The effect of war, the death and the pain, hung over them all like the thick black clouds that slowly drifted across the sky.

Shouts of orders and cries of pain echoed through the battle ground along with the sounds of fighting; sword against sword, pistols firing and heavy footsteps on the muddy ground.

Athos grunted, landing harshly in the trench he and D'artagnan had been running for. They took cover, crouching low as chunks of land flew up into the air from the musket balls firing just above their heads.

D'artagnan flinched, curling up slightly while leaning against the trench wall, his breathing heavy. He looked over to Athos, both covered in dry mud and blood, small cuts running along their faces with their clothes taking a beating from the war.

"We need a better plan," D'artagnan said and Athos let out a heavy breath, resting his head against the trench wall and closing his eyes briefly.

"I know, I know. We need to push them back," Athos said, opening his eyes and flinching as a musket ball hit the ground above his head.

D'artagnan gritted his teeth before pushing up, looking across the battlefield to the Spanish line. He ducked back down as another pistol fired their way, flying inches from his face.

Suddenly out of nowhere, Aramis came sliding down the trench wall, roughly rolling to a stop on his back by the side of them.

"You breathing?" Athos asked and Aramis just groaned, nodding his head before looking up at the sky. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath from the quick run to the trench.

"Where's Porthos?" D'artagnan asked with a small frown and concern laced within his voice. Aramis simply pointed upwards to the top of the trench wall before Porthos suddenly jumped down, landing down next to Athos with a grunt.

"Is everyone alright?" He asked as he crouched down low to stay unseen by the Spanish. They all nodded, a simple groan coming from Aramis as he pulled himself up to sit.

A loud bang sounded above and they all flinched, hearts beating faster as adrenaline kicked in. There were cries of pain; they had no clue in knowing if it was Spanish or French cries however.

"How are we looking?" Aramis asked and D'artagnan pushed up once more, glancing around the battlefield.

"The Spanish are advancing," he grumbled through gritted teeth, turning back to lean against the trench wall and pull his pistol out. The others followed his actions, getting ready for the next fight coming their way.

"ATTACK!" The Spanish Captain shouted from their front line and suddenly, Spanish soldiers started running across the land.

Athos swallowed hard before taking a breath.

"ATTACK!" He then shouted and they all clambered out from the trench, French soldiers following after them from the other trenches.

They ran in fury, shouting as they charged towards the Spanish who were running at them with swords held up high. D'artagnan gripped his sword as he fired one shot at the advancing Spanish. The ball hit its mark and the Spanish soldier when stumbling to the ground, his friends running past him to continue the attack.

The two sides joined and men fell, swords cutting one another down and pistols firing, musket balls piercing flesh.

Athos ducked and fell to his knees, the Spaniard's blade swinging inches above his head. Athos then spun on his knees, landing a hit at the soldier's legs to cause him to fall to the ground. He quickly stood and went to take on the next Spaniard who tried to swing at his head.

He blocked the hit from the Spaniard with his sword, pushing back and landing a kick in the Spaniard's stomach. He swung and cut the man down with one hit to his chest, grunting as he did so.

A loud bang occurred, causing Athos to duck as men around him flew backwards from the force of the blast. Mud and chunks of the ground flew upwards, hitting him in the face and causing him to turn away to protect himself.

He looked around, his eyes scanning the battlefield to see that there were too many Spaniards advancing on their front line. Good men, his men, were falling down to the ground in pain, blood covering their uniforms as they prayed for a quick death.

He had to call to.

"Retreat!" He shouted, not wanting to loss anymore of his men. "Retreat!" He repeated and the French soldiers around him suddenly started shouting to carry the message along.

Athos was about to turn and retreat when suddenly a growl drew his attention back to the Spanish's front line. His eyes landed on the Spaniard running towards him, face full of fury and charging with his sword held high.

He blocked the hit but the Spaniard was fast, twisting around to swing his sword again. Their swords clashed against one another and the Spaniard pulled the knife out from behind his back, twisting it around effortlessly.

Athos had met his match.

The Spaniard turned away from the oncoming blow Athos was directing his way before a bang occurred, distracting them both slightly.

Athos suddenly felt a pain in his side, crying out before falling to the ground and swearing. The Spaniard had managed to slip his knife between the gap in the side of Athos' armour, digging the blade in deep.

"Athos!" Porthos shouted from his right but Athos was too busy with the Spaniard that was now towering over him.

Athos gritted his teeth and swung his sword at the Spaniard's legs, the soldier grunting in pain. Athos was about to land another hit on the man when a two knives were sent flying his way, both landing in the Spaniard's back.

Aramis and Porthos both felt a small ping of victory as both their knives had hit its target.

"Athos!" Porthos then shouted again but all the Captain could think about was the stab wound throbbing at his side. His hands went to press against the wound, blood covering his armour and hands. He grunted, trying to pull himself to stand by rolling onto his front.

"I got you brother," suddenly Porthos said, hands coming to wrap around his chest and pull him up to stand. "Retreat now!" Porthos then shouted to the remaining soldiers still fighting.

Athos grunted, his eyes filling with tears as the pain from walking shook his body into a wince. Porthos' grip tightened around him as they quickly made it to the cover of the trees, musket balls firing above their head and into the trees.

"Where are the others?" Athos asked as he gripped his side, head hanging low to focus on where he was walking.

"Just in front," Porthos reassured him as they made the short journey back to their camp, Aramis glancing worriedly over his shoulder at them.

The two other musketeers were helping one of their fallen comrades, the soldiers arms slung over their shoulders to help him walk.

Athos nodded before leaning into Porthos' strong hold, his legs slowly giving up on him as blood dripped down his side. Porthos grunted, tightening his grip on Athos as the Captain stumbled over a tree branch.

Without thinking, Porthos scooped Athos up to carry him the rest of the journey to the camp. His head fell to rest against Porthos' armoured chest, his breath coming out softly to fog up the surface of the armour breastplate slightly.

"Just stay awake alright," Porthos said after glancing down at Athos, seeing his brother's eyes begin to drop.

"I am," Athos breathed back forcefully.

"That means eyes open, you know," Porthos warned and Athos tried his hardest to blink his eyes back open.

Porthos walked through the camp, soldiers leaning on one another to help walk. Others cried out in pain, blood covering their faces and hands where they laid on the ground with their comrades hovering over them to try and help.

Aramis and D'artagnan placed the young musketeer they were helping walk into the medical tent, ordering one of the doctors to help.

After gently lowering the man to one of the free beds, they quickly exited to follow Porthos into the Captain's tent, Aramis then moving to get him medical supplies.

Athos grunted as Porthos tried his best to gently place him down on the bed. D'artagnan helped him remove Athos' armour to reveal the stab wound in more light, Athos flinching within the process. The younger musketeer pulled a grim face, seeing how deep the wound was and the amount of blood that stained Athos' shirt.

Porthos stepped to the side once Aramis rushed to the bed, allowing Aramis to lean over their brother. He quickly pressed a cloth to the wound and glanced up at Athos' paling face.

The Captain's eyes were shut tight in pain, his breathing laboured and heavy. Beads of sweat ran down the side of his forehead as he grunted, Aramis pressing down hard to stop the bleeding.

"Do you have to... To press down so hard?" Athos questioned, blinking one tired eye open to look at Aramis.

"Do you have to be such a difficult patient?" The medic replied back, knowing what Athos was like when he was injured. He glanced across to Athos, a small smirk forming on his lips.

Athos simply closed his eye again, gritting his teeth as Aramis lifted the cloth up to inspect the wound.

"Pass me the brandy," Aramis ordered and D'artagnan quickly moved over to the table that was covered in maps, picking up the bottle as Athos groaned.

"N-not... Not the brandy," he mumbled, not wanting it to go to waste and causing Porthos to chuckle.

"You and your drink Athos," he commented as D'artagnan handed Aramis the bottle. Aramis then used his teeth to pull the cork out before pouring the brandy onto the wound.

They are grimaced as Athos let out a cry in pain before hissing out a breath through gritted teeth, Porthos' hand coming to grip Athos' shoulder to keep him pinned to the bed.

Athos then let out a heavy sigh after the stinging settled down, falling back into the bed and resting his head against the thin pillow.

"This won't take long, just as long as you don't complain too much," Aramis then said as he inspected the wound one more time before beginning to stitch it up. Athos just hummed, not amused by Aramis light humour. His eyes stayed closed as his friend worked, thankful that Porthos had kept his hand firmly on his shoulder. It put him at some ease, knowing his brothers where there for him.

Once Aramis had finished, the three let out a silent sigh of relief, thankful that Athos had gotten through it. He bandaged Athos' side up tightly before leaning back on his heels. The Captain was asleep in minutes, the tiredness from the whole ordeal finally catching up with him.

D'artagnan went to sit at the table, his chin resting on his hand as Aramis started stitching a cut running down the side of Porthos' upper arm opposite him.

He glanced down at the maps spread across the table, eyes studying the land they had lost to the Spanish. He let out a heavy sigh, lifting his head up to run a hand through his long and slightly greasy hair.

Porthos glanced over at him as Aramis continued to work, concern in his eyes as he studied the younger musketeer.

War had taken its toll on them all but D'artagnan had changed the most, his face becoming more worn and showing the pains of war. He may be the youngest out of them all but he had grown up the most throughout the days in the war, controlling his temper better and keeping more calm and collected.

Feeling Porthos' eyes on him, D'artagnan looked up, straightening his back slightly.

"Are you alright?" Porthos then asked as Aramis pulled the final stitch. D'artagnan nodded before his eyes drifted across to where Athos lay asleep, concern for his brother still at large within him.

Aramis dropped the needle into the bowl of water that had slowly turned red from the bloody cloth he had clean Porthos up with. He then turned to bring both legs over the bench and rested his elbows on the table, watching D'artagnan with curious eyes.

Athos suddenly groaned from where he laid, rolling slightly to get into a more comfortable position. They all turned to look at their Captain, watching with worried eyes before Athos let out a soft sigh and settled back into his sleep.

Aramis and Porthos then turned back to face the table, both leaning into each other for support. Their bodies ached from the fight, bruised and bloodily, the support from his brother allowing Porthos to relax slightly.

D'artagnan shifted on the bench before finally standing and moving over to Athos. He began to push his bed closer to the Captain's so that the beds were finally touching. He then, with a heavy sigh, flopped down onto his bed and stared blankly up at the ceiling.

Aramis glanced back at D'artagnan, knowing the younger musketeer felt he needed to be by Athos' side through the night.

"Come on," he then said, patting Porthos on the shoulder before standing and moving over to his bed. Porthos stood, picking up the lantern from the table before moving over to his bed which was next to Aramis'.

"He'll be fine," Aramis then said to D'artagnan who simply hummed, head turning to the side to look at Athos' sleeping forming.

"We'll all be fine," Porthos corrected and Aramis let a small smile slip onto his lips before closing his eyes, hoping for a peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the reviews and the kudos, they really do make my day. I know this chapter was another one for Athos but I promise D'artagnan's turn is up next. Chapter 4 will be up soon, please review and tell me what you thought of this one.


	4. D'artagnan

4- D'artagnan

D'artagnan groaned as he rolled out of the bed, wishing that he could have a few more hours sleep since he hadn't slept well last night. He sat on the edge of the bed, hands holding the side as he tried to wake himself up, knowing he had to be at the garrison early. He heard Constance moaned, rolling her head to the side to blink her eyes open and look at his bare back.

"Go back to sleep," D'artagnan said softly, turning to kiss her on the forehead and gently stroke her hair. She didn't protest against his words, simply closing her eyes and drifting back to sleep in seconds. He let out a sigh before placing one last kiss on her forehead to then stand and get ready for the day ahead.

He slugged into the garrison a half hour later, yawning as he came to stand next to Aramis just in time to see Treville walking down the stairs from his office.

"You're late," Athos mumbled from his left, not giving D'artagnan a glance in his direction as he stood straight with his shoulders pulled back.

"Didn't sleep well," he replied honestly, running a hand through his slightly messy hair. Aramis glanced across at Athos, the two sharing a worried look before Treville started giving out duties for the day.

The four patrolled the streets of Paris in the afternoon after a long morning of guard duty at the palace. D'artagnan was thankful that they were on patrol, standing around in the palace had been boring and only added to his tiredness.

Walking behind the three, D'artagnan's feet dragged slightly while he thought of how he couldn't wait to get back to the garrison and just rest. Porthos let out a laugh, clapping Aramis on the shoulder as Athos shook his head. His friend's laughter slowly pulled him out from the hole of self-pity he had dug himself into.

With a deep breath, he rolled his shoulders back and straightened, catching up to his brothers to fall into step next to Athos.

"Finally decided to join us?" Athos asked, glancing across at D'artagnan who simply shrugged. He felt Athos' eyes stay on him for a few more seconds before he glanced away, deciding to allow D'artagnan time to open up to them to why he hadn't gotten any sleep.

The rest of the afternoon rolled by slowly and their joking died down, all of them slowly starting to get uncomfortably stiff in their hot leathers.

They were about to spilt of into two groups, hoping they could cover more ground and get back to the garrison early. However, before Athos and D'artagnan could spilt from the other two screaming sounded from the end of the street.

The four musketeers jumped into action, running down the street and weaving through the crowds.

A woman screamed again as her husband tried to fight off thieves that were grabbing at his wife's bag. The thief pulled out a knife and the husband stumbled backwards away from the blade.

"Hey!" Porthos then shouted as they ran towards the four thieves.

The blonde thief with the woman's bag looked up, gritted his teeth before turning and running down the alley.

"I've got him!" D'artagnan shouted to them, sprinting ahead of his brothers to stop them from arguing against him. He heard Athos shout his name but he was already gone, disappearing down the side of the building.

The three musketeers pulled their swords out as the thieves prepared to fight, gritting their teeth. The crowds of Paris stopped to watch, stepping back slightly to avoid getting in the middle of the fight but staying close enough to see the musketeers in action.

"And here I thought it was going to be an easy afternoon," Aramis mumbled and Porthos hummed with a grin before they stepping into the fight.

Athos blocked the hit of one of the thief's blade, pushing the wife back to stop her from getting in harm's way. Athos grunted as he gave a rough kick to the thief's stomach, causing the man to stumble backwards. The thief quickly regained his balance but Athos was too good, a twist of the wrist causing the thief's blade to fall to the ground. The thief then backed up slightly, his back hitting the wall behind him and realising he was trapped.

"Surrender or die, it makes no difference to me," Athos said, his voice low as he held his sword up to touch the man's neck. His hands shot up in surrender and Athos forced down the smug smirk that threatened to appear on his lips.

"Good choice," he then said before lowering his sword and grabbing the thief by the shoulder, pulling him forward roughly.

Porthos had his man held face down in the ground, a knee pressed on the thief's back to stop him from running. He glanced up and Athos nodded to him before handing the thief he had taken down to Aramis, whose pistol was aimed at the last thief's back.

Athos then walked over to the husband and wife, his shoulders pulled back and slipping into his musketeer title.

"Are you both alright?" He then asked, eyes scanning them for any injuries. They both nodded, the husband wrapping an arm around his wife protectively.

"We are but one of them got away, the one with our bags," the husband spoke up and Athos nodded.

"I assure you we will bring your belongings back to you," Athos said before he was cut off with screaming sounding from the street over.

Porthos was the first to react, jumping up and running down the alley way D'artagnan had gone down. Aramis was quick, his pistol moving to aim at the man at the ground as he scrambled up to stand.

"One wrong move..." He warned as a few musketeers came running towards them, having heard the fighting.

Athos ordered them to take the thieves back to the garrison before the two musketeers went running after Porthos and D'artagnan, trying to push down the worry that washed over them both.

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Porthos ran around the corner, his eyes landing on the large crowd that had gathered at the end of the street. His heart leaped into his throat, trying to force himself to not think the worst for his brother as he went running towards the crowd.

"Out of the way," he ordered and the crowd spilt once they saw Porthos' uniform.

He got to the front of the crowd to find D'artagnan lying on the ground on his side, his uniform ripped and covered in dust. A horse and cart stood a few metres away with the driver climbing down and making his apologies heard. Porthos quickly skidded down to his knees next to D'artagnan, clicking on to what had just happened.

"D'artagnan," Porthos said, gently rolling his brother onto his back and taking a sharp intake of breath once he saw how bad D'artagnan looked.

He had a few cuts running along his skin with dust and mud covering his face and neck. His jacket was ripped down his side and blood was slowly staining his shirt and leaking onto the brown leather.

"D'artagnan," his said again and registered how his voice cracked, worry for his brother gripping him as his heart hammered hard against his ribs. He leant down close to D'artagnan's slightly open mouth, hoping his brother was still breathing. A small wave of relief washed over him when he felt D'artagnan's warm breath hit his cheek. He pulled back, his hand going to rest flat on D'artagnan's chest as he looked his brother over.

"D'artagnan, wake up," Porthos then growled, his fear taking over him as he ignored the crowd's soft mumbling around him and the driver who kept on apologies. Anger flared up within Porthos towards the man who had just ran his brother over however he was too concerned about D'artagnan to give the driver a glare in his direction.

"I-I'm awake," D'artagnan then mumbled before coughing, his voice horse and rough. He blinked his eyes open to look up at Porthos' worried expression. Porthos let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding before briefly closing his eyes, not knowing what he would have done if D'artagnan hadn't woken.

He leant back on his heels but he kept his hand on D'artagnan's chest. Feeling the slow rising and falling of his brother's chest allowed him some ease in knowing D'artagnan was going to be alright.

"What happened?" D'artagnan then asked, frowning slightly and titling his head to look behind him. He winced from the throbbing against his skull, only just registering the pounding headache that was foggy his mind slightly.

"You just got run over by a horse and cart while trying to chase down a thief," Porthos informed him as he heard Athos shout for the crowd to separate once more. D'artagnan glanced up at Porthos with a frown before a small smile appeared on his lips.

"What?" Porthos asked, a slight feeling of worry rising up within him at why D'artagnan was suddenly smiling.

"Trying to?" He then asked and Porthos still looked down at him in confusion as Athos and Aramis finally pushed their way through. Athos' heart leaped into his throat when his eyes landed on D'artagnan, stumbling to a stop before Aramis pushed past.

D'artagnan then lifted his left hand slowly, his shoulder throbbing in protest. Porthos looked to see the younger musketeer holding the woman's bag before dropping it back down, wincing from the pain of holding it up. He then pointed with his right hand a few metres away where a man laid on the ground.

"Seriously?" Porthos asked with a small smile of disbelief, D'artagnan grinning up at his brother in triumph.

Aramis suddenly crouched down opposite Porthos, eyes scanning his injured brother as Athos moved over to lean over Porthos' shoulder.

"Is he alright?" Athos asked not bothering to disguise the worry in his voice or on his face.

"Dislocated shoulder," Aramis said as his hands went to the younger musketeer's shoulder, D'artagnan wincing in pain. "A deep graze to his side," he then said, eyes dropping to the blood staining D'artagnan's shirt. "Possible head injury," he then said as his eyes flickered back up to D'artagnan's face, seeing the blood in his hair.

"Other than that, I'm fine," D'artagnan mumbled, closing his eyes as he tried to focus on something other than the pain from his shoulder.

"We need to get him back to the garrison," Aramis ordered and Porthos nodded, pulling D'artagnan's uninjured arm over his shoulder. They helped D'artagnan stand, Aramis' arm wrapping behind D'artagnan's back as he swayed slightly.

"I'm good," he breathed, closing his eyes for a few seconds before opening them again, gritting his teeth in pain.

The crowd moved out of the way for them, Athos coming up behind his brothers with the unconscious thief hanging over his shoulder.

They made it to the garrison, D'artagnan limping up the stairs while Athos dropped the thief to the ground roughly.

"Make sure he's put with the others," he ordered one of the musketeers before following his three brothers up to Aramis' room, it being the closest of the four.

"Is this is what a dislocated shoulder feels like then?" D'artagnan asked before Aramis and Porthos gently lowered him down onto the bed. D'artagnan winced as Aramis went to touch his shoulder, causing him to glare up at the medic. D'artagnan then sighed at Aramis' raised eyebrow, allowing his brother to check his shoulder.

"Don't give me that look," D'artagnan then said, knowing Athos was watching him from behind.

"What look?" Athos asked, walking over from leaning on the doorframe and moving to rest against the table in D'artagnan's line of sight.

"You're worried and concerned look," D'artagnan explained, turning his head to look over at Athos who raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm going to be fin-" he began however he was cut short, crying out in pain as Aramis quickly popped his shoulder back into place.

"You were saying?" Athos asked as the younger musketeer's attention was dragged away from Athos and back to glaring at Aramis, breathing through gritted teeth.

"Look both ways before crossing the street," Aramis then said. "It might not just be a dislocated shoulder and a graze next time," he warned with a stern look, taking the bowl of water and cloth from Porthos.

"I was doing my duty to the public," D'artagnan tried to defend himself as Aramis began helping him remove his bloody shirt to reveal that the graze was deeper then he suspected.

"And I'm sure the husband and wife are flattered by your bravery but you could have been killed," Porthos said and D'artagnan slumped, knowing his brothers were only concerned for his wellbeing.

"Once again, D'artagnan swoops in to save the day," Aramis teased before grabbing the bottle of alcohol and pouring it onto the cloth.

"And once again, he nearly dies," Athos said and D'artagnan looked over to see the worried lines running along his brother's face.

"Stop worrying, I'm fine," D'artagnan said before Aramis placed the alcohol covered cloth onto his graze.

He flinched, taking in a sharp intake of breath and then breathing through gritted teeth. Porthos came over to sit next to him on the bed, his hand going to rest on D'artagnan's bare back. He rubbed circles as Aramis tried his best to remove the grit from the wound before cleaning up the rest of the blood.

Athos moved to grab the bandages and handed them to the medic, who then began wrapping D'artagnan's side up tightly.

After Aramis had finished he leant back, eyes glancing up at D'artagnan. He then rolled back onto his heels before pushing himself up to stand, studying D'artagnan's face.

"What would you do without us, 'ey?" Porthos questioned with a grin as Aramis leant forward, fingers gently brushing through D'artagnan's hair to check for any head injuries.

"Probably have a more stress free life," D'artagnan grumbled in a matter of fact tone. Porthos huffed out a laugh and Aramis grinned down at the Gascon.

"Now what life is that?" Aramis questioned, titling his head to the side slightly and giving him a frown.

"A rubbish one," D'artagnan said honestly with a grin and the four of them chuckled.

A life without his three brothers would be nothing compared to how it was now. He didn't know what he would be doing, a life not being a musketeer was something D'artagnan didn't even want to think about it

D'artagnan winced from the pain laughing caused him, closing his eyes briefly to allow the wave of pain to pass.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Athos asked, worry for the young musketeer still washing over him.

"I'm fine, shoulders slightly stiff but other than that... I'm fine," he said, reassuring his brothers once again. Aramis then grinned at D'artagnan, patting the younger man on his uninjured shoulder.

"Your head looks fine, no blood," he said and a wave of relief washed over both Porthos and Athos, allowing themselves to relax now D'artagnan had been fully checked over.

"Good, now we need to get the bag back to the husband and wife," D'artagnan said and Athos shook his head, pushing up from the table.

"You're in no fit state to carry out musketeer business. I'm ordering you to stay here and let Aramis look after you. Me and Porthos will deal with this," Athos said as he picked up the bag lying next to D'artagnan on the bed. D'artagnan just grumbled something about Athos not actually being his Captain but didn't protest against him any further.

Porthos chuckled, gently patting D'artagnan on the back before standing, following Athos out of the room. Aramis moved to sit at the chair next to the bed, studying D'artagnan with curious eyes.

"What is it?" He then asked, feeling Aramis' gaze on him as he moved slowly to settle back into the marksman's bed.

"Nothing," Aramis said but the smirk that curved his lips betrayed him. "You look great," he then added and D'artagnan gave him a harsh glare however he couldn't stop the smile from forming on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos, I'm happy people are liking this fic. Anyway, here was D'artaanan's little chapter and I hope you all enjoyed it. Two more chapters left now before it's finished, I'm pretty upset it's going to end soon. Thanks for reading, next chapter will be up soon :)


	5. Porthos and D'artagnan

5- Porthos and D'artagnan

Aramis grabbed the Spaniard from behind, having been sneaking up on the man from the cover of the trees. He quickly put one hand over the man's mouth to stop him from crying out while his other went around the man's neck, squeezing tightly. He struggled against the Spaniard who tried to get out of his grip, kicking and thrashing out with all his effort to get out of Aramis' hold on him. However, slowly the man began to lose the fight, his kicks behind became weaker and his grunting slowly died down. The Spaniard suddenly slumped against Aramis' chest, having lost the battle with unconsciousness and finally passing out for Aramis' benefit. The musketeer slowly lowered him to the ground, making sure to stay as quiet as he could throughout the whole process.

He suddenly heard footsteps behind him, causing his heart beat to increase, but when he stained his hearing he recognised the soft thuds to be connected to Athos. The Captain came around the corner of the run down and abandoned building seconds later, dressed in the Spaniard's clothes who he had taken out a few minutes ago.

"This is a foolish plan," Aramis mumbled as he turned away from Athos and began stripping the Spaniard of his clothes.

"You have anything better in mind?" Athos asked dryly as he crouched down low behind Aramis, pistol held up and keeping lookout for any other Spaniards on guard.

"No… But I still think it'll get us all killed," he mumbled as he roughly shrugged his jacket off and pulled the Spaniard's one on instead.

"Well, if we die you won't have to complain about it anymore," Athos said, glancing behind him to locking eyes with Aramis.

"That's a comfort," Aramis said. "I'm blaming you if that happens though," he then added. Athos just titled his head slightly to glance back at Aramis, giving the marksman a look before turning away and scanning the surrounding area.

Their plan was to enter the camp as Spanish soldiers to be able to get a count of how many Spaniard's there were, while also assessing the situation for a plan of attack at getting their two brothers back. It had been a long mission back from the South of France and they had gotten ambushed, Spaniards surrounding them quicker than they could think. Porthos and D'artagnan had been the unlucky ones, dragged away before Aramis and Athos could do anything.

Aramis quickly got changed, pulling the Spaniard's jacket over his shoulders before putting his own sword belt back on. He then dragged the unconscious Spaniard to rest up against the wall before turning and looking at Athos, who still crouched low in his lookout spot.

"Ready?" He asked and Athos nodded, his jaw set in determination as they began walking around the worn down building.

Athos walked in first, both keeping their heads high as they entered the Spanish camp, determined to fit in within the group. Both their hearts were hammering in their chest but they managed to keep up a confident front, not wanting the Spaniards to see through them.

Their disguises worked, a Spaniard glancing across at them with a nod which Athos returned. The Spaniard's attention was then dragged back to looking at their leader who paced in front of the two musketeers.

Athos could feel the sudden stiffness in the marksman next to him and slowly moved his hand to touch Aramis' arm, a gently warning to wait before doing anything. Aramis clenched his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms as he tried to restrain his anger.

Porthos and D'artagnan were hung up on a wooden beam next to each other by the rope tied around their wrists. D'artagnan's head was hanging low to rest against his chest while Porthos glared at the leader, jaw set tight and eyes boiling with anger.

Blood dipped down from a deep cut that ran down the side of D'artagnan's face, bruises forming on his neck and face. He swung slightly where he hung, however he seemed to be unresponsive to what was happening around him. Aramis just hoped that the injuries underneath the young musketeer's uniform weren't as bad as the ones he could see.

"Are you going to answer my question or do I need to beat your friend here a little more?" Their leader asked in a thick Spanish accent as he came to a stop in front of Porthos. The larger musketeer gritted his teeth, pulling at the rope that held him to the beam above his head. "You can pull at the rope all you like, but the only way you and your friend are getting out of here alive is if you answer my questions," the leader said and Porthos simply pulled at the rope again, showing the man he wasn't going to back down. He ignored the burning pain the rope causes against his wrists, a small amount of blood dripping down his arm from the cuts the rope caused.

The leader simply sighed at Porthos' actions, leaning back from studying Porthos before glancing at D'artagnan. A small smile formed on his lips as he felt Porthos stiffed, pulling at the ropes even more and trying to protect D'artagnan from getting hurt again.

He moved over to stand in front of the younger musketeer and gripped him by the chin to pull his head up. D'artagnan groaned in pain before blinking one of his eyes open, the other swollen from the beating he had gotten early. He tried to breathe properly but his ribs protected against the simple action, all his energy slowly draining from him as his upper body throbbed from being stretched above him.

"Don't-" Porthos began but the leader suddenly slammed a punch into D'artagnan's already bruised ribs, causing him to cry out in pain and have his breath knocked out from him.

Seconds later, swords were drawn and Athos and Aramis took out two of the thirteen Spaniards they had counted.

Porthos looked over at the sound and let out a sigh of relief when his eyes landed on his two brothers fighting their way through. He let a small grin form on his lips before he turned to the leader who was looking around disorientated. Porthos twisted the rope around his hands and pulled himself up, swinging his legs back before slamming a kick with both feet into the leader's stomach. The Spaniard stumbled backwards and fell to the floor with a heavy grunt.

Suddenly, a knife was thrown through the air and connected with the rope that held Porthos to the wooden beam. He fell to the ground ungracefully but managed to land on his feet, glancing across at Aramis who gave him a wink before heading back into the fight.

Porthos quickly pulled the knife out of the wood and cut D'artagnan free, grabbing the younger musketeer to stop him falling to the ground. He then slowly lowered his friend down, resting him against the wall. After doing so, he turned to the Spanish leader who was struggling to stand, gritting his teeth in anger before moving over to the man.

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Athos swung his sword to connect with his opponent's one, pushing him back to allow himself time to twist around to block a hit coming from another Spaniard. He managed to cut that one down before giving a swift kick in the others stomach he had been originally fighting.

The Spaniard stumbled backwards and Aramis spun, cutting the man down before doing the same to the one he was duelling against. They both turned, ready for the next attack to see the last few Spaniards running away, their leader unconscious on the ground from where Porthos had slammed a heavy fist against his face.

"I was wondering when you two were going to show up," Porthos said, standing up straight to look at them both and relaxing his fist.

"Couldn't find the right size," Aramis said with a lazy gesture to his clothing, causing Porthos to let out a chuckle. Their attention was quickly drawn to their youngest member as D'artagnan groaned, rolling his head to one side.

Aramis moved over and crouched down in front of D'artagnan, gently tapping his uninjured cheek to get a response.

"D'artagnan?" He asked and simply got a soft moan in returned, D'artagnan titling his head away from Aramis' hand with his eyes still closed. "D'artagnan," he then warned and the man let out a shaky breath, blinking his eyes open to stare tiredly at Aramis. It took him a while but he finally took another breath to speak.

"What?" He asked before trying to shift his uncomfortable position against the wall to only wince in pain.

"We need to stitch this cut up before it gets infected," he said, gently titling D'artagnan's head to the side to study the deep wound that ran down from the side of his forehead and along his cheek.

"Ribs first," D'artagnan mumbled and Aramis leant back in his heals, eyes glancing towards D'artagnan's chest. His hands moved gently to lift D'artagnan's shirt up and survey the damage. Angry bruises had already formed, dancing across his pale skin and making themselves clear.

"May I?" Aramis then asked, holding out a hand to check D'artagnan's ribs. D'artagnan gave a sharp nod, biting down on his cheek as he prepared himself for what pain he was about to endure.

Aramis placed his hands on D'artagnan's ribs, slowly moving his fingers along the bruised skin to feel for any broken ones. He felt D'artagnan tense and wince at every soft movement of Aramis' fingers over his bruising skin. He could sense Athos' and Porthos' concern and worry radiating off the two as they watched him work.

"None broken," he then stated after fully checking his brothers ribs.

"Sure feels like it," D'artagnan mumbled, eyes dropping closed as tiredness began to take over him. He wanted rest, needed the peace that was unconsciousness. However, Aramis was stubborn and mean in his eyes, gently tapping him on the face to wake him back up once again.

"None of that, not until I've properly checked you over," Aramis warned, pointing a finger at him before gently taking D'artagnan by the chin to tilt his head. "It's a pretty deep the cut," he then said and D'artagnan just hummed, blinking his tired eyes to try and stay awake.

"I'll go get your bag from our horses," Athos said before moving towards the exit.

"Are you hurt anyway else?" Aramis asked and D'artagnan frowned slightly, trying to focus on where the pain that ran through his body was actually coming from.

"He took a hit to the head and a stab wound to the shoulder," Porthos informed him quickly, bending down to slowly pull the top of D'artagnan's bloody shirt down to reveal the thankfully shallow wound.

"Easily fixed," Aramis said, flashing D'artagnan a smile and the younger musketeer just gave him a glare in return.

"I don't appreciate your humour at this moment in time," D'artagnan said before rolling his head to rest it against the wall.

"You always appreciate it," Aramis said before kneeling up slightly to become level with D'artagnan's head. His fingers gently brushed through D'artagnan's hair, checking for any lumps or blood. He was thankful he found only one lump and no blood, his heart settling down slightly.

"You may have a concussion," Aramis then said and D'artagnan simply smiled.

"Great," he replied, his voice thick with so much sarcasm that Athos would be proud.

The man himself then came jogging back into the building, Aramis' bag over his shoulder and bottle of brandy in his hand. He moved over to drop the bag next to Aramis before pulling the cork out of the brandy.

"Drink," Athos then ordered D'artagnan as Aramis went digging through his bags, looking for what he needed. D'artagnan took no time in arguing, happily taking large gulps from the bottle until Athos removed it from D'artagnan's lips with some effort. D'artagnan found himself moaning slightly, missing the burning sensation that the brandy caused as it ran down his throat. It managed to take his mind of his throbbing shoulder, aching ribs and pounding headache.

"Shirt off," Aramis then ordered and D'artagnan looked towards the man, eyebrows raised as high as his tired state could allow him.

"Are you always this direct in getting people to take their clothes off?" D'artagnan questioned with a small smirk forming on his lips, proud of his comment. Aramis however was not, giving D'artagnan a look before ordering him once more to remove his shirt.

"Now, this may hurt," Aramis then said before pressing the alcohol stained cloth against D'artagnan's shoulder over the wound. The young Gascon flinched, Athos' hand coming to push D'artagnan back against the wall as Porthos bit the inside of his cheek, hating seeing his brother in pain.

"I did say it would hurt," Aramis simply said, wiping the blood up before dropping the stained cloth to the ground next to him.

"Remind me... T-To shoot you... When I get better," D'artagnan breathed, the sudden pain flaring from his shoulder having taken its toll on his strength on keeping awake.

"Of course," Aramis said as he picked up the needle. "Now stay still," he ordered and D'artagnan obeyed, simply gritting his teeth as the needle slid through his skin. He hated this part the most; he'd rather get stabbed again than feel the uncomfortableness and the pull of the needle through his skin.

Aramis knew the younger musketeer took a slight displeasure in getting stitched up but it had to be done, at least he wasn't as bad as Porthos. Aramis had gotten many minor injuries from trying to stitch Porthos up, his worst one being a black eye when he tried to fix a gunshot wound Porthos had obtained in the thigh.

Aramis worked quickly for D'artagnan's benefit, trying to get this whole ordeal finished with. He pulled the last stitch and Porthos handed him the bandages to wrap D'artagnan's shoulder up tightly.

"Looks like you'll be using your left arm to fight for a while," Porthos stated as Athos cleaned up the medical supplies that had been used.

"I'll be fine," D'artagnan grumbled, blinking his eyes closed and trying to ignore how much pain simply breathing caused his ribs.

"Sure you will," Athos mumbled before standing, shrugging the Spaniard's jacket off and wanting to change back into his own musketeer uniform.

D'artagnan simply groaned in reply, the energy draining from him. He was thankful when Aramis didn't start tapping him on the cheek again to wake him up, his brother finally allowing him to get some much needed rest as Aramis worked at cleaning the wound on his face.

After Aramis had finished cleaning D'artagnan up, a groan from behind them all caused the three fully conscious musketeers to look back, seeing the leader of the small Spanish party was slowly pulling himself around.

"I'll deal with this, you patch up Porthos," Athos instructed before walking over to the leader and kicking away the sword that laid next to the Spaniard.

Aramis turned back to look at Porthos and noticed the blood on his shirt. He suddenly felt guilt wash over him. How could he not have noticed the blood? He was so busy in fixing D'artagnan up that he hadn't even asked if Porthos was alright.

"It's fine, it's just a scratch," Porthos insisted, lifting the bottom of his shirt up to reveal the small cut to his side.

"It still needs stitches," Aramis said and Porthos groaned.

"Just do it," he simply said and Aramis moved over to sit on the ground in front of Porthos, needle and cloth in hand. Another groan and then shuffling occurred behind and Porthos' gaze flickered over to where Athos had grabbed the Spaniard and lifted him up, slamming him against the wall opposite them.

"Who ordered you to take my men prisoner?" Athos asked, clearly his natural calm he always held having slipped away. He was too tired, concerned for his brothers and angry at the man to be his calm and collected self. "Answer me now," Athos growled low, his grip tightening on the Spaniards jacket before he slammed the leader against the wall again, rougher this time.

"Like I would tell you," the Spaniard replied, snarling his response with anger building up in his eyes.

"I suggest you answer me if you value your own life," Athos then said and heard a grunt come from Porthos, Aramis just beginning to stitch the wound.

"I will never," the Spaniard said. "I won't back down to scum, especially musketeer scum," he said with a grin on his face that made Athos' stomach twist. "My men will regroup and be back, they'll have your heads for this. I'm glad I had enough time to beat that little shi-" and suddenly, the Spaniard slumped to the floor unconscious for the second time that night, Athos stepped back after slamming a punch in the man's face.

Athos turned around to see both Aramis and Porthos staring at him with blank expressions.

"He was taking too much," Athos simply said before walking over to D'artagnan and sitting down next to the sleeping musketeer.

"He's right," Aramis then spoke up, glancing towards Athos who was relaxing and tensing his fist, his knuckles slightly sore from the punch. "His men will be back," he added before turning back to Porthos who was biting down on his cheek to try and ignore the amount of discomfort he was in with the needle.

"And by that time they get here they will find that we have disappeared and their leader unconscious," Athos said as Porthos grunted again, Aramis pulling the final stitch.

"All better," Aramis stated, moving to grab his bag.

"D'artagnan can't ride in his state," Porthos finally managed to say, relaxing his gritted teeth as his jaw ached from how hard he had been biting down.

"It's either an uncomfortable ride on the horse or facing down a dozen Spaniard's," Athos said.

"T-The Spainards... Do sound fun," D'artagnan mumbled from where he sat next to Athos, his eyes still closed but listening in to their conversation. "But... The first option is more appealing," he said, finally flickering his eyes open to look at the captain.

"You're sure you can ride?" Porthos asked, a hand coming to rest on D'artagnan's uninjured shoulder.

"I'll be fine," he grumbled before waving for Athos to help him stand.

"Still stubborn and determined as always," Aramis commented before helping D'artagnan steady himself on his feet.

"Let's get you both back home," Athos said, glancing towards Porthos before his eyes rested on D'artagnan. They helped D'artagnan get to the horses, pushing him up to ride with Athos since D'artagnan would not be able to ride on his own.

"You ready?" Athos asked, gathering up the reins as D'artagnan slumped slightly in the saddle, head falling backward to rest on Athos' shoulder. He simply hummed in response, closing his eyes and hoping to sleep most of the journey.

"Let's go then," Aramis said before they kicked their horses into action, riding back to Paris together as a foursome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thank you for all the kudos and the reviews, they honestly make my day. Anyway, I hoped you liked this chapter, leave a comment with what you thought to it. I had to incorporate Porthos hating needless because I just love that idea, sorry (not really). The next and final chapter will be up very soon, until then :)


	6. Aramis

6- Aramis

Aramis slowly began to regain consciousness, the feeling of being dragged by his feet registering in the back of his mind. He noticed the cold; that was the next thing that came to his senses, a shiver making its way violently down his spine as the harshness of the temperature hit him.

He was disorientated, his whole world spinning as he tried to get a grasp on reality.

He kept his eyes shut, not even being able to blink them open, the effort to do so being too much for him at this moment in time. Instead, he tried to focus his mind on getting a feel for his surroundings.

He felt rope bounding his wrists together, his arms dragging on the ground above his head. The sense of danger took over him but he took a steady breath, forcing himself to stay calm.

His back was damp, his leathers wet from something he wished wasn't blood. When he pushed his mind further he didn't register any tremendous amounts of pain coming from his back, meaning it couldn't be blood but from the actual ground.

Snow.

His head bounced slightly as he was dragged over a rock, squeezing his eyes shut tighter as the pounding in his head multiplied dramatically. He managed to steady himself after a few deep breaths, his spinning world slowly coming to a stop and the wave of dizziness finally washing away from him.

The grip on his right ankle shifted, readjusting its hold on him but continuing to pull him none the less.

Aramis registered that it was two men pulling him, one walking on either side of him.

He tried to remember what had happened and how he had gotten into this situation of being dragged on his back in the snow.

His thoughts flickered to Savoy, memories of his time there suddenly racing through his mind and causing his heart to flutter. His breath hitched as images of dead bodies, dead brothers flashed through his mind, dragging him back to a place he thought he had escaped many years ago. Deep red against the white canvas that was the snow covered ground, swords abandoned and dead men scattered around him.

No, this wasn't Savoy, Aramis forced himself to believe. That time had passed, he being the only remaining survivor. This was not Savoy. There were no dead bodies, no smell of rotting flesh or Marsac's soft cries as he was abandoned by the only brother left standing other than himself. There was no overpowering want for the blissfulness of death, to be rid of the physical and mental pain he was in.

No, he wasn't in Savoy. So, where was he?

After a few more deep breaths he finally managed to open his tired eyes to blinding light, which only forced them to snap shut once more.

He then slowly blinked his eyes back open, giving them time to adjust to the sunlight shining down on him, lighting up the forest floor around him.

Trees passed by over head as he stared blankly up at them, the few leaves left blowing softly in the wind of the early winter's afternoon. A few snowflakes danced down from the white clouds, landing softly onto the ground.

Aramis took another deep breath before titling his head to look at the men who were currently dragging him along the snow covered path. He registered the throbbing from his head but pushed passed it, trying to recognise the men from the back of their heads. They both had their hoods pulled up, protecting them from the cold, their black leather boots trudging through the snow.

Aramis couldn't stop the shiver that ran down his spine; once again registering how cold the day was even when the sun was shining down on them.

With one last tug the men dropped his legs, Aramis unable to stop the grunt that escaped his lips as a pain shot through him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop himself from bring up his poor excuse of a breakfast he had eaten this morning.

He was injured, bleeding along the snow and leaving a trail from where he had been dragged. He registered a throbbing pain from his leg, the blood soaking his trouser leg. It was a gunshot wound to his calf and a painful one too.

Through the pain he heard talking, the two men mumbling to each other in Spanish. He strained his ears to listen in on what the two men were saying.

"He's a musketeer," one mumbled in Spanish, his voice rough and low in a warning as he glanced towards Aramis.

"So? It means they'll pay more for him," the other replied back to which the blonde man let out a huffed laugh.

"We'll not need the money when we're both dead. His friends could be on us any moment now; musketeers are known for their loyalty," he said, crossing his arms as if to protect himself from the other man.

"By the time they find our tracks we'll be long gone and this one will be on the slave ship," and at those last two words Aramis felt sick rise up within him and his heart drop heavy in his chest.

A slave ship.

The two men were going to sell him as a slave.

Aramis mind raced with thoughts, thoughts of living his life as a slave, of how he was going to escape and of if his brothers were coming to save him. Pictures of Anne and his son came to mind; he had promised to protect them no matter what, that he would give up his life to make sure they were both safe. How could he do that when he was about to be sold as a slave?

"You awake yet?" One of the men said, leaning over Aramis and patting him on the cheek rather harshly.

Aramis flinched away, flickering his eyes open to look up at the man towering over him. His captor had a scar running down the side of his face with piercing blue eyes and a grin that could make the strongest man cringe in fear.

"Good, can't have you unconscious when selling you now can we," he said in Spanish, his grin not slipping from his face.

"I'm still not sure about this," the blonde man then spoke up again and the man with the scar, who Aramis guessed was the leader, rolled his eyes. He straightened up to stare at the other man, a tired and annoyed sigh escaping his lips.

"If you want out..." The leader then wondered off, gesturing lazily to the path behind them to which the blonde man straightened up.

"No. I helped drag him here all the way from the river, I want my share," he then said strongly before backing down slightly, seeing the look on the leaders face.

Aramis' memories suddenly caught up with him and he swallowed down his worry as everything began to fall into place.

It had been a simple mission; deliver some letters to a Lord in the west of France. However, they had gotten ambushed and musket balls had flown through the trees, Athos shouting back at them to take cover. He remembered hearing one of his brothers cry out in pain before he himself had been shot, falling backwards to be washed downstream by the river. He swallowed hard again, hoping that his brothers had made it and knowing he couldn't go through life if they hadn't.

The two men had then found him, the men being slave traders, before dragging him through the forest to the nearest port.

"Just help me stand him up," the leader then ordered and Aramis was roughly pulled up to stand. The musketeer let out a small grunt as he was forced to apply pressure onto his injured leg. He was thankful the musket ball had just scraped his skin. However, he regretted it slightly because it meant he was fit enough for slave traders to want him. He never wished to have been shot on target more in his entire life than in this moment right now.

"Gentlemen," Aramis said, his voice finally coming back to him and speaking in Spanish so they could understand him. "Can't we talk about this like men?" He questioned, knowing it was pointless asking since he already knew the answer.

"No," the leader then snapped before pushing Aramis forward. He stumbled ungracefully but managed to regain his balance. He began pulling at the rope around his wrists, it burning at his skin as he tried to loosen the bindings.

"Your friend over here is correct you know," Aramis began, nodding his head towards the blonde man. He paused with his words for a moment, walking along the path that headed to the small town that surrounded the port. He was limping, not wanting to apply too much pressure to his wound due to it still throbbing painfully.

The leader then glanced across at his friend, both walking a few steps behind Aramis to make sure he didn't make a run for it.

"My friends will come for me and you should know that they don't take lightly to the men who kidnapped one of their own," Aramis then continued, trying to make to men slowly turn on each other and playing against the blonde man's weakness. It must have worked because suddenly the blonde man gave another worrying glance towards the Spanish leader.

"Maybe we should just let him go," he began, his voice laced with worry. "When I got into this with you, you never said we'd be selling damn musketeers. I'm not prepared to die for this man," the blonde said and the leader sent a harsh glare his way, gritting his teeth from the anger he felt towards his comrade.

"You are a fool, he's just trying to get into your head," the leader said and Aramis turned slightly to glance back at the two men, knowing his plan was slowly working.

"But he's right, the musketeers will have us hanged if they catch up with us," the blonde man said, looking at the leader with pleading eyes.

"Look," the leader then began, placing a hand on his friends shoulder to ease him as they walked. "We'll make good money from this sell; he's a musketeer for god's sake. He's fit and strong, able to take on anything. We've just got to get to the port, meet the buyer and then we're finished. Him gone as a slave and us as richer men," the leader said with a smile as they finally walked into the small town.

Aramis gritted his teeth as he twisted his hands quicker in an attempt to loosen his bindings as anger took over him. He tried to restrain his emotions, annoyed that the leader managed to get the blonde man back on his side. He sure hoped his brothers would be here soon.

He also hoped they were alright, God he hoped they were safe. He couldn't remember which of them had got hit, his head pounding still from when he hit the rocks in the river. But he had heard it, the cry from one of his brothers going down. His heart ached to see the three again, dread slowly taking over him as he trudged through the snow.

What if they didn't make it to him in time and he was sold by these men, sent off on the boat to live the rest of his life as a slave?

He swallowed down the sick that rose up in his throat once again, trying to stop his racing mind from thinking the worst.

Of course his brothers were going to get to him and save him, they always did. He tried to ignore the nagging thought in the back of his mind but knew there was no use.

A life as a slave, he couldn't think of anything worse.

As they rounded the corner the leader grabbed him by the shoulder and roughly pushed him forwards towards the port, Aramis' eyes landing on the slave boat and causing his breath to hitch.

Other people were being quickly pushed onto the already crowded boat, eyes wide and shaking with fear. Their wrists and ankles were bounded together by chains, rattling as they walked up the plank to the boat.

Aramis drew his tied hands up to the cross hanging on his chain around his neck, closing his eyes briefly as he prayed to God.

A rough push against his shoulder sent him stumbling forwards, eyes flying open to see the ground coming quickly towards his face. Unable to stop his fall due to his tied wrists he landed harshly on the ground face first, letting out a grunt. The cold snow hit him harshly, managing to send another shiver down his spine. He groaned, pushing himself up to all fours before he was suddenly pulled back.

"Get up you fool," the leader snapped and roughly pulled Aramis to stand by the back of his damp jacket. He ignored the shooting pain from his wound and walked forwards, the leader guiding him towards the boat.

"I've got one for you," he then said to a man stood by the edge of the port, watching the slaves carefully as they climbed aboard. "A musketeer, fit and healthy," he then said, clearly lying about the gunshot wound to Aramis' calf.

The man, who Aramis guessed as the buyer, peeled his eyes away from the boat and towards Aramis, looking him up and down through narrowed eyes.

He felt like something on display, all his insecurities showing and suddenly feeling so vulnerable. He hated it, hated feeling like someone's possession, hated the way the buyer was looking him up and down as if assessing whether Aramis was worth the money. It made the musketeer feel sick and his face scrunched up in disgust at the situation.

"How much?" The buyer finally asked and the leader grinned, happy that a deal was going to be made.

Money was exchanged, the two men left with smug smiles on their faces while Aramis was suddenly being pushed in line.

The musketeer frantically glanced around as he pulled at the rope around his wrists, hoping to see his brothers riding in, pistols raised and swords drawn.

Suddenly, a stinging pain rang along his back; one of the men stood guard having whipped him to keep moving. He gritted his teeth, forcing back the tears that threatened to fall from the pain running down his back.

"Move," The guard ordered, his voice rough and low in a warning towards Aramis.

Aramis shot the man who had whipped him a glare which, sadly, only seemed to anger the guard more. Another whip was sent his way, striking him across the back once more.

He wince, grunting in pain before the guard pushed him along, only to cause his legs to buckle underneath him. He fell to the ground in a huff, his face landing deep in the snow. A shiver ran down his spine, only aggravating his wounds even more. He growled in anger into the snow but didn't have the energy to pull himself back up to stand.

He'd rather die than climb up onto that boat. He was ready for death, anything sounding better than that hell of a boat.

"Get up! Now!" The guard then ordered Aramis who he stayed still, moving his head to the side and breathing in the smell of the port and the fresh snow. "Don't make me ask twice!" The guard yelled before growling in anger, pulling his arm back and sending another whip his way.

This time it was harder, the leather striking him with such force his whole body violently winced. He let out a cry before it was cut short by another whip.

His back stung, the pain was becoming unbearable as he gritted his teeth to stop the tears from falling. His head was spinning as the pain took over his senses.

Aramis closed his eyes, praying to God for a peaceful passing but not feeling anything but pain. He wanted it to stop, it shaking his body and draining all the energy he had left. His heart ached for his brothers, giving anything right now to see their faces one last time.

Just as the guard was about to throw his arm back another time a shot rang through the air, hitting the man in the arm and causing him to drop the leather whip with a cry.

Aramis titled his head at an awkward angle to see his three brothers riding towards him, Athos holding his smoking pistol up having just fired.

He felt a wave of relief rush through him as he rested his head back down to the soft snow, closing his eyes with a soft smile on his face as he let the pain wash over him.

The guard growled in anger before drawing his sword with his uninjured arm, his comrades doing the same thing.

"Let him go and we shall leave quietly," Athos said, his voice strong as he pulled his horse to a stop, D'artagnan and Porthos doing the same next to him. He stared down at the man who had just bought Aramis, a look of pure hatred flashing on his face before it was replaced with a neutral expression.

"You are mistaken musketeer, you have no right to his man," the buyer said in a thick Spanish accent.

"Neither do you," Athos warned, Porthos glancing worriedly at Aramis who laid still on the ground with his eyes closed.

His heart was in his throat, hoping his brother wasn't badly hurt. However, he doubted it, seeing the blood staining Aramis' torn jacket and trousers.

It had been a long ride, following the blood that trailed through the snow so deep like black ink on paper. The three of them had followed the trail in silence, all drowning in their own worry for Aramis. The fact that they hadn't come across his body kept them all pushing through the snow, hoping to find Aramis alive at the end of the trail.

"I've just bought him and there are no laws against slavery," the buyer then spoke up in a matter of fact tone and Porthos snapped his head back to the leader, coming back to reality from his thoughts. He gritted his teeth in anger, gripping the reins of his horse tightly before D'artagnan leant over, his hand coming to rest on Porthos' arm to ease him slightly.

"I will gladly repay you for him, just let him go and we can talk about this like gentlemen," Athos said, trying to reason with the buyer.

"I'm not losing a decent slave," he said and with that Porthos lost it, swinging his leg over his horse and landing down in the snow with a thud. He gripped his sword tightly and the buyer backed up, motioning to his men to step forward.

"Unfortunately for you, you have pushed my friend to his limit," Athos began. "We gave you a way out and you refused to take it, here are the consequences," Athos said dryly before Porthos tore towards the guards, face full of fury. D'artagnan and Athos joined the fight and in a matter of minutes they had taken down all the guards, neither one of the three even breaking out a sweat.

Aramis had zoned out slightly within the fight, the pain from the whips making his mind foggy and disorientated. He suddenly felt Porthos' strong but gentle hand on his shoulder, slowly lowering himself down to Aramis' level to look at him with worried filled eyes.

"Aramis?" He asked, his voice soft but laced with fear for his hurt brother.

"Hmm?" Aramis simply replied, blinking his eyes open to try and look at Porthos. His vision went in and out of focus a few times but finally settled on Porthos' face.

"We're going to get you out of here," Porthos said before pulling out his knife, cutting the rope that bound his brother's hands together. He took in a sharp intake of breath once he saw the burns running along Aramis' wrists and his heart broke. "We're going to take care of you," Porthos added once his eyes flickered back up at Aramis' face.

The marksman moaned, his eyes fluttering shut as the effort to keep them open was simply too much for him.

D'artagnan moved over to Aramis' other side and gently helped pull him to stand. Aramis cried out in pain as he slung his arms over his brother's shoulders, allowing them to help him walk.

Athos stood with his sword pressed against the leader's neck, face neutral but eyes screaming with anger. The leader quickly held his hands up in surrender and Athos granted it, removing his sword from the man's neck.

"You are all free to leave," Athos then called to the slaves who were watching the scene with wide eyes.

"What? No, you can't-" the leader began, to only fall silent when he saw the looks on Athos', Porthos' and D'artagnan's faces. He backed down, knowing he couldn't go up against them now his men were on the floor groaning in pain.

Athos stepped forwards and took the buyers keys off his belt before throwing it to the closest slave, monitoring for him to unlock himself. The people all suddenly started to thank Athos and the musketeers, calling them their saviours before quickly hurrying off the boat to get their chains unlocked.

"Come on, let's get you to an inn so we can clean you up 'ey," Porthos then said, his voice low and gentle in Aramis' ear.

He let a soft groan, happy that his brothers had come to his rescue at the last second. However the happiness soon disappeared as they began to walk, Aramis wincing from the amount of pain his body was in.

They made it to the closest inn and Athos managed to sort out a room for them, the innkeeper taking one look at Aramis and quickly nodding.

Porthos and D'artagnan gently lowered Aramis to sit at the edge of the bed once they were in the room.

They helped him remove him damp leathers and bloody shirt before gently lowering him to lay on his front to study his back. The three musketeers grimaced at the four deep cuts running along their brother's pale skin.

"I'm sorry," Porthos said as he knelt down next to the bed near Aramis' head. D'artagnan gently began cleaning up the wounds along Aramis' back with a wet cloth as Athos stitched up the gunshot wound. "I'm so sorry," Porthos then mumbled and Aramis frowned tiredly up at his brother.

"F-For what?" He breathed and Porthos lifted his hand up to gently stroke Aramis' still slightly damp hair.

"For not getting to you sooner, for letting those men take you, for allowing that guard to whip you," Porthos listed off, guilt taking over him as his eyes glistened with tears.

He didn't know what he would have done if they had been too late and Aramis had been sold as a slave or if Aramis had been beaten to death. He wouldn't have been able to cope; he would have broken down there on the spot and hated himself for letting something like that to happen to his best friend, his brother.

"I'm here now though," Aramis said, his voice gentle as he spoke with a soft smile. "You don't need to apologise for something that wasn't in your control," Aramis whispered before wincing, D'artagnan beginning to clean the next whip wound.

"Sorry," D'artagnan mumbled as Athos pulled the last stitched. The Captain leant back on his heels to study his work.

"That's not bad," D'artagnan then commented, glancing down at the stitch before locking eyes with Athos.

"O-One good thing that's come out of this is that... We've figured out Athos is a wonderful seamstress," Aramis mumbled, his eyes closing and slowly relaxing into Porthos' gentle touch.

The other three musketeers let out a soft chuckle at Aramis' words, thankful they had their brother back.

"Which one of you got hit?" Aramis suddenly asked, his eyes flying open as he remembered hearing the cry of pain.

"Me," D'artagnan said, rolling his bandaged shoulder slightly, the musket ball thankfully having gone straight through. "Athos demonstrated his wondering stitching skills on me too," he then said and Aramis grinned, titling his head to look down the bed towards Athos who simply sigh, pushing up to stand.

"It's slightly more uneven then your work but it'll do," D'artagnan teased, giving Athos a grin before continuing to clean Aramis' back up.

Athos rolled his eyes before turning to clean up the medical supplies he had used to fix up Aramis' gunshot wound.

"I'm glad we've got you back brother," Porthos then said, dragging Aramis' eyes back up towards the larger musketeer. Aramis smiled weakly up at him, Porthos fingers still running through his hair.

Aramis realised then that it wasn't only for his benefit that Porthos was stroking his hair but also for his brother's. Porthos needed to know that Aramis was still here, that he was still alive, stroking his hair gave him that calm he needed while also relaxing Aramis.

"I don't know what I would have done if..." Porthos then wondered off, his voice cracking slightly as tears filled his eyes. Aramis brought an arm up awkwardly to cup Porthos cheek, stroking a thumb across it.

"Don't," Aramis warned, knowing Porthos was beating himself up about the whole situation. "I'm fine," he told him and Porthos just nodded, unable to speak in fear of breaking down crying. Aramis gave him a soft smile before Athos walked over, holding out a hand to take Aramis'. The marksman allowed Athos to clean up his bloody wrist, applying salve before wrapping bandages around both wrists and then lowering Aramis' hands gently back down to the bed.

Aramis fell asleep that night with Athos curled up on the chair by his feet, legs propped up on the bed. D'artagnan laid on the next bed over, Athos having insisted the injured musketeer take the second and last bed.

Porthos had settled himself down on the ground next to Aramis, the bed being too small for both of them. If it has been big enough Porthos would surely be laying down next to his brother. However, he sat on the floor with his back against the bed. His head rested on the sheets with his arm twisted up awkwardly above him to hold Aramis' hand, both men needing the comfort of the others touch as they slept.

Aramis sighed, a soft smile forming on his face as he listened to Porthos' soft snoring. He didn't know what he would do without them in his life. He knew he was the healer of the group, always patching them up when they were injured and saving their lives from a gunshot or stab wound. However, he knew it was truly them three, his brothers, that were his saviour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was it guys, the final chapter to this little fanfiction. Thank you all for having the patience with me and following along with it. The reviews forever make my day, so thank you again. Please tell me if this chapter lived up to the expectation, I hope it did. I'm currently writing another story, one with an actual plot and linking chapter. That will be up here soon, until then thank you all so much I never thought this many of you would like this little fanfic. Bye for now, Abby :)


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